I sit in a chair by a window, the aroma of strong, dark coffee rising, intermingling with echoes of laughter. I am alone.

A man comes in. He's scruffy, confused, disoriented, wearing dingy rags and an old, knowing frown. He takes a seat in the middle of the coffee shop. It's the only one left. People stare.

I am writing about magic: the magic of the autumn breeze as it carries colored leaves to their death,so they can rise again in the trappings of spring. But I see this man over the frames of my glasses, and he smiles. I look down at my coffee. It is untouched. I smile.

In a moment, I am outside of myself. I stand up and weave through the maze of chairs, my mug in hand and a song in my heart. People stare. I place the mug in front of the man with the tired eyes and old clothes. He smiles.

"Hello."

He talks about his late wife and his old job and how he ran himself into a hole too big to climb out of. He talks about how he's always had a passion for teaching but he never got the chance. He talks about that one time he got to visit New York City, how the skyscrapers truly did touch the sky -- but he always preferred hometown dirt over man-made concrete jungles. And then he tells me how he has never gotten to say these things before because no one would listen.

No one would give him the chance.

Maybe they tossed him an over-the-shoulder look of sympathy or shoved a dollar at him to make themselves feel good, but they never cared. They never once asked him his story, or even offered to tell him theirs.

I tell a joke -- the one about the bison and the buffalo, or something like that -- and, perhaps for the first time in a long, long time, he laughs. And it is the music of true joy. He finishes his coffee, and I return to my window seat as he waves goodbye.

I am writing about magic: the magic of people as they leave footprints on your heart.

sunlight streaming through the windows.waking up because you want to, not because you have to.morning cartoons.cheerios.cozy tee-shirts.the music of the coffee pot.the brisk morning air.bare feet.fresh paint.three cups of tea with just a touch of honey.long drives.cute cafes.children playing the front yard.oak trees waiting to be climbed.the dust on old books longing to be read.barbecue.soft piano chords.football.shouts of joy.togetherness.